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THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 



THE 



Story of a Hunchback, 



By J./L. ^, ^ , 



Via cruets via lucis," 



CHICAGO: 

JANSEN, McCLURG, & COMPANY. 

1885. 



NOV YI I8B 




^% 



\ 






Copyright, 

By Jansen, McClurg, & Co. 

A.D. 1884. 



I KNIGHT Sc LEO HARD . I 



TO 



MY DEAR FATHER, 



LOVING AND REVERENT 



REMEMBRANCE. 



THE 



STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 



PART I. 



When Nature slowly lifts the hand 
Held tenderly o'er childhood's gaze, 
To shield it from the world's broad glare, 
We smile to see the glance, half bold. 
Half startled, of the fresh young eyes; 
Yet some there are, alas ! to whom 
This earliest glance reveals a waste — 
A desert, boundless, overarched 
With burning skies ; ah, piteous 
It is to see a shadow fall 
O'er eyes scarce opened to the day 1 
Our early grief, our young despair. 
Though lightly held in after years, 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

With chill breath pale the blood of youth, 
And wither frail spring flowers of joy 
Within the heart. For me, I know 
That, moving back across the years, 
And looking with the eyes of old 
Down vistas of dark days to come, 
I feel once more the crushing weight 
That lay upon my childish heart. 
Ah, yes, the puny hunchback-child 
Who stole away to hide his tears. 
When others ran to merry sports, 
Had visions of the coming years 
That were not fair to look upon. 
When first I woke to know my doom, 
And felt its prison walls grow strait 
About my life, I could but beat 
And bruise my heart against the bars ; 
For young desire ne'er yields to fate 
Without a struggle, blind and fierce 
And impotent, that ends at last 
In blank defeat ; and so I lived 
At strife, a rebel in God's world, 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 9 

And shook my childish hand tight clenched 
Against the power that shaped my lot. 

One priceless gift was mine at birth, 

Whose potent spell the years drew forth — 

A sense that thrilled to ecstasy, 

When beauty swept with touch of might 

Its vibrant chords. The mists of time 

Have never closed around the hour 

When first this inward sense awoke 

To conscious life ; I lay alone 

At sunset, on a grassy bank, 

And felt the mellow sky stretch wide 

And calm above the quiet earth ; 

When, suddenly, a lonely cloud 

That drifted overhead, caught fire. 

And sailed, a floating flame of rose, 

Across an amber sea ; the throb 

Of frightened joy that shook my soul 

Beats through me still ! they found me there 

In tears, and said, half pitiful : 

''He's frightened to be left alone, 



lO THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Poor lamb ! He's but a baby still." 
Those early days ! their dreary ghost 
Stares at me still in lonely hours. 
From vacant room to vacant room, 
In that sad home, whose sun of joy 
Had sunk behind a low, green grave — 
A sad-eyed, feeble child, I crept, 
And blindly sought, with groping heart, 
The mother-love that could not stoop 
Through gates of pearl to fold me 'round. 
My father's love, deep-channelled, strong, 
And still, moved on, and felt no need 
To burst its bounds in those fresh floods 
Of loving speech that keep hearts green. 
With steadfast will and kindly art 
He strove to prop my drooping life. 
But knew not how to make the sap 
Within flow fresh with quickening power. 
His careful thought it was, I knew 
In later years, that drew a shield 
Between my weakness and the world, 
By choosing that our home should lie 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. II 

Away from cities, 'mid the green 

Of quiet fields, where I might stray 

In peace, not stabbed at every step 

By careless eyes ; and where fair sights 

And fragrant airs and happy sounds 

Might reach me with their gracious touch. 

He passed his days amid the din 

And ceaseless jar of city life, 

And brought a worn and saddened heart, 

At evening, to a lonely hearth ; 

And through the lagging hours of day, 

A silence deep and brooding filled 

The mournful house, through which I heard 

My stealing footsteps, one by one. 

A child of solitary ways 

And silent thoughts, I lived apart. 

And no one saw the waking soul 

Feel vaguely through the dark for light. 

And love, and God, the central heart 

Of love and light, whose glory throned 

Above the stars, gleamed faint and far. 

My father, lost among the mists 



5 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Of doubt that overbrood the age, 

And of a mind too strictly true 

To feign a faith where faith was dead, 

Let fall no word of God or heaven ; 

My fond old nurse, a faithful soul 

And simple, muttered Latin prayers, 

And prated oft of virgin, saint, 

And pope, but so o'erlaid the face 

Of Truth divine with tawdry veils 

Of Romish weaving, that I lost 

Its brow sublime and smile of peace 

Beneath a shroud of glittering gauze. 

But, though the doors of conscious thought 

Were closed, God's love, like Christ of old, 

Passed in, unknown, with breath of peace. 

No soul is left to grope alone; 

Through thickest night, a hand unfelt 

Upholds and guides our faltering steps; 

And oft, from nature, robe of God, 

As from the seamless garment's hem, 

Flows healing virtue on the souls 

That know not yet His face, but press 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 13 

Behind Him in the throng of life. 

The sunlit air, the happy sky, 

And fields, and hills, and springing flowers, 

Their ministries of comfort wrought 

Upon my heart in those young days; 

And ere I reached the glimmering arch 

Where eager and reluctant feet 

Pass forth to brave a world untried, 

There came an angel, unaware, — 

An angel splendor-winged, with breath 

Of quickening flame, whom men call Art, — 

And touched mine eyes, and all the earth 

Grew broad, and fair, and full of light. 

That strong, wild thrill, that mingled sense 

Of power and longing infinite — 

VJhQn first, from lonely heights of soul 

Beyond our ken there leap in joy 

The sparkling streams of eager thought — 

There's naught in all this life of ours, 

Save wakening love, so sweet, so strange, 

So full of rapture touched with pain! 

Like soft spring airs that wake the chords 



14 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Of vague regret, steals o'er my heart 
The memory of those blissful hours, 
When, sheltered in a quiet nook 
Roofed o'er with leaves and flecks of blue, 
Where silence trembled into sound 
More soft, and sound in silence merged, 
I lay, and dreamed, and wove a web 
Of pencilled shapes around the dreams 
That trooped through fancy's radiant halls. 
A narrow strip of vivid blue 
Between two dull and leaden clouds, 
Those fair, calm years of wakening power 
And fervid life shone brightly out 
Between a past of dreary years, 
And darker future sweeping near. 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 1 5 



PART II. 

Scarce had my heart, unused to joy, 
Its wings in sunny skies unfurled. 
When, smitten by a sudden shaft, 
It quivered, bleeding, back to earth. 
Death from my father's yearning eyes 
Had swept the clinging mists of earth 
To let the great Beyond shine in. 
And I stood shivering in the chill 
And vacant gloom of life, alone. 
An upturned face, calm, pallid, strange, 
That filled with breathless, creeping dread 
The darkened room where, mute and 

stunned, 
I gazed, and could not move nor weep — 
A coffin closed above that face 
Which still on me gleamed white and 

strange, 



l6 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Then silence, blankness, pressing close 
With stifling weight around my heart. 
O, memory, throw not back thy light 
So vividly on that dead face. 
That new-made grave, that dumb despair : 
Across the fields of youth, grown fair 
With timid shoots of hope's fresh green, 
There swept a bitter, barren flood. 
From whose dark waves to darker skies 
I raised a dull and vacant gaze. 
The slender wall of human love 
That screened my spirit from the void — 
The infinite unknown — was rent. 
And wailing winds, from lonely wastes. 
Rushed in and smote the chords of dread. 
Art, tranquil-eyed, serene, draws back, 
And leaves us v/ith our first, fresh grief; 
For well she knows the blinding tears 
That blur, to-day, her visions fair 
Will fall, and leave the inward sight, 
For high revealings, clearer grown ; 
And waits till we have ceased to weep. 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. i; 

And looking up reach out once more 
To grasp her trailing robes of light ; 
But God waits not for tears to cease ; 
Our grief, though oft we know it not, 
Is but the shadow of His wings, 
Outspread to fold our trembling souls. 
Unconscious of His brooding love, 
I saw the outer light grow dim, 
But felt not yet His mighty heart 
Against my soul beat, through the dark ; 
I only knew that joy had fled, 
And life was desolate and vain. 

Behind me, eighteen quiet years ; 
Sad, lonely oft, yet sheltered years ; 
Before me, paths unknown that lay 
Amid the eager, jostling throng 
Who thrust aside, with pitying scorn, 
The stunted, weak, unneeded lives 
That creep along their busy ways — 
So stood I — met the eyes of fate 
With steady gaze, and chose my lot. 



l8 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

I left the green, familiar fields, 

Long loved, and trod with lingering feet ; 

And sought the city, there to plunge 

With shrinking yet unswerving will 

Within its hurrying tide of life. 

One quiet refuge still was mine, 

An upper room, whence, looking out 

Above a crowded street, I felt 

The silence of the sky descend 

In blessing on the homes of men, 

And hushed my heart against its calm. 

But through the day, I sat and toiled 

With happier toilers, unto whom 

The art I turned to for relief 

Brought eager joy; as, once, to me 

With flush of dawning power it brought. 

Amid their wealth of bounding life. 

That flung its foam of careless speech 

Abroad in sparkling showers of mirth, 

I felt the loneliness of one 

Who, through a grating, sees the sky, 

And hears the songs of birds in spring. 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. I9 

Their furtive glances oft I felt 
Turned toward me, as I bent at work, 
The pencil moving, though the heart 
No more moved with it as of old. 
One glance, more gentle than the rest, 
Left in my mind its haunting light, 
That first awoke the morbid fear 
Of pity, born of pride and pain; 
Then drew me by its subtle charm. 
To seek it, as a ray of joy. 
From one it came, whose clear blue eyes, 
Undimmed by shade of guile or grief. 
Shone bright and soft as summer skies. 
The merriest of them all he seemed, 
And through his fresh, spontaneous mirth 
There flashed no flame of mocking scorn. 
I loved to watch him as he worked, 
With rapid hand and eager eyes. 
Then, throwing back the wave of hair 
That swept his brows, and pausing, gazed, 
With gathering frown, as one who sees 
His bright ideal missed once more. 



20 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

One day, when all the rest had gone, 

The work hour being past, and I, 

Absorbed, a moment stayed 

To seize and bind a fleeting thought, 

He lingered, hesitating, near; 

Then with a sudden smile came close, 

And stood, in silence, at my side. 

And when, my work complete, I rose, 

He said, — not with the air of one 

Who gives a favor, giving praise : — 

"A glance, a master-sweep of brush, 

And on your canvas captive lies 

The beauty that my hand pursues 

In vain. Oft in my jealous dreams 

I see our mighty mistress smile. 

And point to Leslie Howard's name 

Upon the future's secret page; 

And well I know the laurel crown 

I toil and pant to win, will fall 

Without a struggle on your brows." 

"Give me the buoyant life that fills 

Your veins, the strength you lightly wear, 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 2 

The power to move among my peers 

And share the hopes and loves and joys 

That stir the common heart of man — 

And take the paltry crown of Art 

Which, should I wear it, would bur fix 

The cold and curious eyes of men 

On one to whom their gaze is pain." 

The words rushed forth; but as they fell, 

I hated them for laying bare 

The wound that silence thought to hide; 

His truer instinct, heeding not 

The warning flush that burnt my cheek, 

Touched fearlessly, yet tenderly, 

The quivering chord that none before. 

Through all the years, had dared to 

touch. 
"The joy of strength that fills my veins 
I share with all the lower lives 
That feed and sleep and move and rest, 
And have no sense of aught beyond; 
But manhood's grandest might is yours, 
Who lift a burden as you climb 



21 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

In triumph up the steeps of art. 
Fear not the cold and curious eyes, 
Nor yet the pitying glance of men, 
For they who conquer weakness, stand 
Among the heroes of the world, 
Who win and wear its reverent love." 
A gleam of vivid sunshine fell, 
With sudden glory, through the bars 
That shut me from the outer world: 
I grasped his hand, but spoke no word, 
And with a bright and swift " Good-bye! 
We meet to-morrow!" he was gone. 

In Arthur Linden, nature's hand 

Had blent the glow of southern suns 

With breezes of the bracing north: 

His tenderness made sweet his strength; 

His pity kept his gladness warm. 

The shadow on another's life 

To him was like a beckoning hand 

That claimed a share in his warm light; 

And so, when I, whose body bore 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 23 

Before all eyes its seal of pain, 

Heart-sick and lonely crossed his path, 

His eager pity, reaching forth, 

Threw round my heart its quick embrace. 

A friendship, growing warm and close 

As time passed on, knit fast our hearts, 

He giving, I receiving all. 

Save as my very need itself 

Was minister of joy to him, 

Through love's deep mystery whereby 

Who giveth most hath largest bliss. 

The sunshine of his radiant smile 

Around my lonely room he shed; 

And left the memory of his voice 

To fill with sense of human love 

The silence, when alone I sat 

And faced the haunting shapes of doubt 

That chilled me with their icy touch. 

His breath rekindled into flame 

The fires of thought that dimly glowed 

Beneath the ashes of spent grief; 

And I grew conscious of a life 



24 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Beyond the aching sense of loss, 
As hand in hand we wandered on, 
Where shining foot-prints of great souls 
Make luminous the ways of art. 
To his bright soul the beautiful 
Was as a finer air wherein 
To soar and breathe delight; 
While I, from tossing deeps of doubt 
And pain uplooking, felt a vague 
And yearning sense of some vast truth. 
Beyond my grasp, wherein should meet 
The holy and the beautiful 
In union flawless, absolute, — 
Forever whole, forever one. 
He, conscious of no discord, lack, 
Or thwarted longing, slowly sipped 
With lingering lips the cup of joy. 
And marvelled as I, panting, pressed 
In ever baffled, vain pursuit 
Behind a flying dream of truth. 
Through glow, through gloom, o'er fra- 
grant fields 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 2$ 

And burning sands I followed on, 
And still, upon the misty verge 
Of farthest thought, the vision gleamed. 
Oh weary search! Oh needless pain! 
Since at my side, the Truth Himself, 
In love and yearning pity moved. 

Among new-fledged and dazzled minds, 

Which fancied that the sun of truth 

Rose when their blinking eyes unclosed, 

I daily met an easy doubt 

Of aught beyond the sphere of sense, 

With careless air worn jauntily 

Like some new mode, or lightly dropped, 

With shallow jests from laughing lips: 

And once, when I in silence stood 

Applauding not, amid a group 

Who hailed with loud applause a shaft 

Of pointless wit, aimed carelessly 

Against the saving hope to which, 

Through all its anguish, sin and shame, 

The struggling world has ever clung, 



26 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

They pressed me with a mocking charge 
Of faith "in that vain, empty dream 
Of God and heaven, that narrow minds 
Will cling to still, though science, wise 
With Nature's larger teaching, sees 
In changeless law the only God." 
And I, too sad for scorn, replied: 
"I know not yet the God whose name 
From mouth to mouth you lightly toss, 
But to my ear, from awful deeps 
Of silent darkness round the world, 
Comes back the echo of your jest — 
A hollow murmur full of woe 
And longing. — If we are indeed 
But transient breathings of a life 
Without a soul — if on the verge 
Of nothingness we stand and gaze, 
And clutch with feeble hands the sense 
Of being ere it slips our grasp, 
Is then our fate so blest that we 
Should boast our heritage of death, 
And make a sport of happier hopes.?" 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 2/ 

A smile of light surprise went round, 
And as I slowly moved away- 
One whispered, yet I caught the words — 
**To such, life must indeed be dark! 
They should be left to die at birth, 
As in the wiser days of Greece." 
And I, in bitterness of heart, 
(Forgive me Lord!) thought, **Aye, they 

should. 
If what these babbling sages teach 
Be true, and sense the bound of life." 
It chanced that, as I left this group 
Of self-admiring votaries 
To trim their lamps before the shrine 
Of doubt, I sought the home of one, 
A fellow artist, who lay ill 
And (as I feared) without a friend. 

A tender glory from far skies, 
That flamed around the dying sun, 
Made fair the room wherein he lay; 
And, pausing at the open door, 



28 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

I saw it light the lifted face 
Of one who prayed beside the bed. 
No prayer, save muttered Latin words, 
Caught up in childish days as charms 
To soothe or balk a dreaded power, 
Had ever fallen on my ear, 
Till through me as I listening stood 
There swept a voice that seemed to float 
In strong repose o'er mighty deeps 
Of being; and I grew aware 
Of words that caught away my soul 
Above the endless round of doubt. 
And held it, poised, in light serene. 
"Most Pitiful! whose depths of love, 
Like sunlit air, enfold the world, 
This blinded child in darkness gropes; 
Yet, like a wakening bird at dawn. 
Doth faintly feel a thrill of light 
Steal through his being; and is fain 
To greet the sun; O Christ, in whom 
The human heart of God laid bare, 
In utmost love and suffering beat 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 29 

Beneath the spurning feet of men, 

And still, in changeless pity, beats! 

I plead not, what am I to plead 

For love that doth outrun our thought? 

But with my prayer I fain would guide 

His groping hand Thine hand to grasp: 

The thronging host of hopes and fears 

And passions and delights that filled 

With noisy life his fleeting days. 

And drowned the Spirit's call, has fled; 

A soul disrobed of earth, alone, 

He stands amid the awful shapes 

Of things eternal, and his cry 

Goes up to Thee; O Thou to whom 

The first, faint, struggling breath of souls 

Is precious, lift him. Lord of love. 

And let him feel Thy folding arms!" 

A low sigh broke across the words. 

And he who prayed arose, and stood 

In silence by the pillowed face 

Whose flickering light the hand of death 

Had caught away from mortal eyes : 



30 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Then, with the look a mother gives 
Her tired child who sleepeth soft, 
Bent low and kissed the pallid brow. 

With footsteps hushed, I turned away, 

And from the house passed blindly on, 

Rapt, trembling, in the vivid sense 

Of some vast presence, pitying, pure, 

Sublime, revealed within my soul. 

And while earth slept, and stars kept watch 

Through silent hours, heart-hushed, I moved 

Beside the earthly ways of Him 

Whose footprints, on the snowy heights 

Sun bathed, serene, of perfect life, 

Still lure the slow-paced ages on. 

The veil of creeds, through which the light 

That lighteneth all the weary world 

Too oft but dimly struggles forth, 

I flung aside ; and saw the face 

Of Him I followed, from the fires 

Of blended love and pain, shine fair 

And ever fairer as I gazed : 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 3 1 

Till, softly, as the rising moon 

That climbs behind the hills, and sheds 

A fair, faint dawn above their tops. 

Then cleaves the sky with silver edge, 

And rounding to a perfect orb, 

Thrills all the air with tender light, 

Within my soul a vision rose. 

That filled the utmost deeps of thought 

With quivering waves of joy and awe — 

The vision of a mighty love, 

Forth reaching from the heart of God, 

Through human hands, to lift the world 

Toward heaven — the vision of that love 

Rejected, scorned, yet triumph-crowned ; 

By might of suffering, strong to break 

The chains of sin, and draw the soul 

Through cleansing fires to life divine. 

"O, Love! O, Love ineffable! 

That by Thy power upliftest souls 

As from the ocean deeps the sun 

Uplifts the clouds — I turn to Thee! 

Oh, lift me ! lift me ! for Thou canst ! " 



32 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

So cried I as the vision dawned : 
Then from my spirit fell the bonds 
Of doubt, — new-born of love, I lay, 
A child within the arms of God, 
Without a thought beyond His face. 

The morning broke : the world without 
Awoke ; the daily round of life 
Began once more ; but in my heart 
The freshness of a primal dawn 
Made fair the common light of earth : 
Life lay illumined, pain and grief 
Seemed only as the rugged steeps 
Whereby the soul must climb to reach 
The heights of being; and the sky 
Of love, pure azure, clasped the world. 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 33 



PART III. 

The calm years, rich with broadening life 

And ever deepening peace, passed on ; 

The bar that held my soul aloof 

From others, melted in the fire 

Of love divine : no more apart 

In solitudes of pain and doubt 

I brooded o'er the woes of earth, 

But, passing forth, and pressing near, 

To hearts that failed 'neath weary loads, 

I strove by gentle force of love, 

And patience warm with quenchless hope, 

To draw them toward those mighty arms 

That wait to lift from every soul 

The burden of its doubt and sin. 

And oft I trembled with the joy 

That thrills exultant, rapturous, 

From all the quivering harps of heaven — 



34 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

The joy of seeing smiles of peace 
On troubled faces softly dawn, 
As over groping hands closed warm 
The clasp of love, that neither life 
Nor death has power to loose ; and oft 
Alas ! I tasted of His pain 
Who saw with agony of love 
Unbounded, fathomless, the souls 
He came to free, content with chains. 
One shadow haunted all my joy ; 
The friend who first with vital warmth 
Of human sympathy, had stirred 
To quicker beat my failing pulse, 
Walked on beneath a sky of joy 
O'er which no darkly gathered clouds 
Had drawn the brooding shades of life, 
With eyes too full of happy light 
To crave the shining of God's face. 
When, in the flush of hopes new found 
I spoke of healing for the world, 
Of God brought near to man, of peace 
In pain and triumph over sin. 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 35 

He gently smiled, as one who hears 
A dreamer murmuring broken words 
Of woods and fields and waves of blue, 
And will not break his happy sleep — 
Then said: "Most glad I am, dear friend. 
Your goal, long sought, is won at last ; 
For me, I see the fields of life 
Stretch wide and fair, and take the paths 
I find, that lead my willing feet 
Through fragrant groves by sparkling 

streams ; 
To you I leave the dizzy ledge. 
Where truth with doubtful balance treads." 
No mocking word e'er passed his lips ; 
And yet I knew he looked on me 
As on a child who reaches forth 
To grasp his image in a glass. 
I could but hope that God's dear love, 
With daily pressure still and strong. 
Would force the portals of his heart: 
But oft I feared that naught but winds 
Of mighty woe could burst their bars, 



36 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

To let the waiting Christ pass in. 
Our love unsevered by the strain 
Of thoughts that farther pressed apart, 
As time went by, still held us close. 

One sunny day in early Spring, 
When sheltered snows that lingered still 
Fed sparkling rills, and that first breath 
Drawn softly by the wakening year, 
Stirred joy, that yearning, broke in pain, 
He greeted me with shining eyes, 
And like a happy child, poured forth 
The joy that sparkled through his glance : 
"My own Queen Mab, my fairy queen 
Who sends her flying elves by stealth 
To fill my canvas with her dreams, 
Will soon be at my side to breathe 
Her secret magic in my ear ; 
Beware, my friend ! we yet shall snatch 
Those flaunting laurels from your brows." 
And then I knew he spoke of Grace — 
A sister dearly loved, whose name, 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 3/ 

With proud and tender praises blent, 
Was often on the brother's lips, 
And who, through all their orphaned life, 
Had made her home with distant friends, 
But now, a woman, with the right 
To make her choice of lot, was fain 
To fill for him the woman's place, 
Where yet none dearer sat enshrined. 
''Come, you shall see the home I choose. 
And help to make it fair ; we'll have 
No desert blank of whited walls 
Around the eyes that love to rest 
Upon the living bloom of earth." 
I trem.bled as he lightly spoke, 
Half conscious of reluctant dread. 
That blended with a quivering sense 
Of coming joy : a foot-fall faint, 
Far heard, woke echoes in the deeps 
Of formless thought, that would not die. 
But sounded clearly, strangely on, 
Through happy hours, wherein we strove 
With playful rivalry of brush 



38 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

And fancy to make fair the house, 
Where eager love was fain to light 
The hearth-fires of a new-made home. 

I, living in a world apart, 

Whose bound no woman's foot had passed, 

Had kept the stainless reverence 

And sacred tenderness of thought 

That soften, like a floating haze, 

The dewy morning hours of life. 

To me, imprisoned in a form 

That moved the pity of the strong 

And fair, the thought of woman's love 

Was like an Eden, never trod, 

Close guarded by a sword of flame. 

Oft, as a homeless wanderer looks 

Through lighted casements of bright homes, 

I gazed with yearning hopelessness 

Upon the light of wedded joy; 

Then, clasping close the hand divine, 

Walked on, in peace, beneath calm stars. 

But now, this far-heard footstep broke 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 39 

The Starlit silence round my heart 
With presage of a coming change. 



Unworded fancies, dim and sweet, 
Breathed outward through the forms I chose 
To wreathe around the womanhood 
Whose unknown glories filled my dreams 
With radiance tremulous and fair. 
Pure lilies, and that faint, flushed flower 
That nestles with its lowly leaves 
Against the beating heart of Spring; 
Far glimmerings of snow-clad peaks, 
And gleams of blue through clustering 

leaves. 
Where veils 'neath which my thought 

stole forth. 
Close shrouded from the common eye; 
While through my musings ran this song, 
That seemed a breathing from the lips 
Of the far Future whose vague form 
Swept dimly toward me through the dark: 



40 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Upon a river's brink 

A lily fair 
Her brows uplifted light 

Through summer air. 

The soft breeze whispered low 
His tale of bliss; 

And touched her velvet cheek 
With tender kiss: 

But ah, the fickle breeze 
Passed swiftly on: 

And stole away the joy 
His lips had won. 

The sunlight on her heart 
In sweet rest lay, 

And dreamed, in golden calm, 
The hours away. 

But when night beckoned soft, 
The false sun fled, 

And left his love to mourn, 
Uncomforted. 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 4I 

But ever at her feet 

The river flowed; 
And in his constant heart 

Her image glowed. 

Through daylight and through dark 

His tide, unknown, 
Sent freshness through her life, 

Yet flowed alone. 

And when she drooped and died. 

Upon his breast 
He bore her tenderly 

Away to rest. 



There came a day, — how blue and fair 
It shines within my memory still! 
When Arthur bade me, with a smile, 
Come home and see the nested bird 
For whose sweet sake our eager hands 
Had conjured with the spells of art. 



42 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

I see her as she lightly rose 

To greet her brother's friend, her glance 

Of pity veiled with woman's art, 

Afraid of wounding when she longed 

To soothe; I feel again the pain 

Unspeakable, with which I stood 

A boy in stature, but a man 

In soul, with manhood's fervent might 

Of being, crowned, — and met the eyes 

Of her through whom my floating dream 

Of woman's perfectness reached forth. 

And touched me with a human hand. 

A moment through my being surged 

A fiery flood that burned away 

The thought of God, then suddenly, 

With swiftly sinking waves, it fled; 

And that still sea of peace, wherein 

The image of the love supreme 

Lies mirrored, filled my soul once more. 

The shade of self paled out of sight; 

And, overflooded with pure joy, 

I lifted, like a lowly flower 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 43 

That feels the sun and rests content, 
My passive heart, and drank the light 
Of her sweet presence in rapt calm. 
Her beauty! Think you I have words 
For that.-* Nay, ask the rose of June, 
That pulses from its throbbing heart 
Pure flushes, growing softly pale 
As loth to bare before the world 
The secret of its tender fire; 
Go, listen to the dying fall 
Of liquid melodies, or watch 
The sunset touch the hills with light, 
Not of the earth, or heaven — too pure 
For earth, too passion-tinged for heaven; 
And if their clearer speech doth fail, 
Think not that any word of mine 
The subtle mystery could reach. 

As homeward, 'neath the clear spring sky, 
Star-luminous, and bare of clouds, 
My slow feet passed, I bared my brows 
In silent reverence of joy 



44 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

That God had made the earth so fair, 
That love was sweet, and hearts were glad, 
And though no heart in all the throng 
Should e'er, by sweet allurement drawn, 
Press close to blend with mine its beats 
In rhythmic harmony of love. 
Yet through my soul surged mightily 
The love and joy of all the world. 

A stream, that long had flowed unknown 

Beneath my life, burst suddenly 

To light, and glad with stainless blue, 

Its happy secret sparkled forth 

In golden-gleaming, murmurous waves. 

Its low song rippled through my thought, 

And all the common ways of life 

Were touched with dreamful tenderness. 

The young, fresh green that fringed the 

streets. 
Clear, sudden bird-songs, trilling high 
Above their din, and purest blue 
Around the slowly melting pearl 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 45 

Of morning clouds, — by spells unknown, 
Their subtle sweetness interfused 
With something beautiful and strange 
That softly stirred within my heart. 
I knew not how nor whence it came, 
But felt it touch the hidden chords 
Of shrinking joy and blissful pain. 

Night after night, with quickened pulse, 
And passionate, expectant thrill, 
I lifted to my eager lips 
The brimming cup that fate held forth. 
And knew not that its sparkling draught 
Should slowly fill my veins with fire. 
Night after night I steeped my heart 
In mellow radiance, falling fair 
From her clear mind whose changeful 

thoughts 
Their tints ethereal softly blent. 
Her fancy, light as floating down 
Tossed idly by the summer breeze, 
With sportive grace, played airily 



46 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Around our slower-moving thought; 
And yet, beneath her lighter mood 
There glowed a fire of life intense 
That oft burst forth in sudden flame 
Of eager speech, and dimly showed 
Like beacons on a rock-bound shore 
A tossing sea of troublous thought. 
Like Raphael's Margaret, in the lone 
And shadowed wilderness of life, 
Her white feet on the dragon's wing. 
She stood, and felt his fiery breath 
Against her stainless garments blown, 
And searched the dark with baffled gaze 
That could not pierce the murky air 
To rest with Margaret's on His face 
Who shines away the shades of fear. 
Oh, how I longed that, through my soul, 
Some ray, though faint, of God's pure light, 
Upon her straining eyes might fall! 
Oft, when in quiet evening hours 
Our happy talk took graver tone 
From some new-fallen shade of grief 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 4/ 

On other lives, and I, with words 

Too slow and faltering for the thought 

That pressed for fuller utterance, spoke 

Of that deep mystery of pain 

Through which, as through the belt of fire 

'Round Dante's purgatorial mount. 

All souls must pass who fain would 

breathe 
The stormless air of perfect life, — 
I felt her clear gaze search my face 
With eager longing in its deeps; 
And watched the slowly-mounting flush 
That told the dawning of new thought. 
At last, there came a sudden change 
Which laid my life so close to hers 
That I could dare, with gentle hand, 
To lift the veil of shy reserve 
Close-drawn around her inner thought. 
A fever creeping through close streets 
Where crowded life sowed seeds of death. 
With blighting breath smote suddenly 
A poor street child, whose haggard face 



48 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Behind her stand of early flowers 
Had learned to greet me with a smile, 
As day by day I paused to buy, 
And strove to give a human tongue 
To the sweet messages breathed forth 
Through dewy petals from God's heart. 
And, learning that she lay in pain 
Beyond the reach of woman's care, 
I saw that my unskilful hands 
Must act the woman's as they might; 
And seeking, found her fever-parched, 
Alone, with blank, delirious eyes. 
And while I bent above the face 
So piteous in its shrivelled youth, 
A staggering step without drew near 
And paused within the open door: 
Then, reading by the lightning flash 
Of instant thought, the whole sad tale, 
I left the bed and turned to face 
The drunken father, as he stood, 
Surprised, in sullen, bestial rage. 
An instant, with a savage stare, 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 49 

He met my gaze; then raised his arm 
And with a sudden, dizzy sense 
Of blinding pain, I reeled and fell. 

When from the dark and vast unknown, 
My spirit floated back to light, 
I lay in Arthur Linden's arms, 
And with a dreamy wonder saw 
The quick tears gathering in his eyes, 
As, bending low above my face, 
He watched the life-tide creeping back; 
Then, like the sound of far joy-bells 
Heard faintly through a sunny sea 
Of golden air, fell on my ear 
The distant voice of her I loved. 
As, slowly, in my dazzled sense 
The outer world took shape once more, 
I saw the dear, familiar walls 
That with so many happy hours 
Had blent their pictured fantasies, 
And knew I lay in Arthur's home, 
That Grace was moving overhead, 
4 



50 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

While through the open casement flowed 
A blended stream of breeze and light; 
And as I vainly strove to speak, 
The silence Arthur gently broke 
With playful tenderness of speech: 
*'What hero of Homeric days 
Had not his favorite god, who moved 
Beside him, wrapped in clouds, and flashed 
To light when danger called? Behold 
The faithful Mars who felled your foe 
And bore his hero from the field." 
While yet he spoke, Grace, drawing near, 
Had paused within the door, and stood 
With something stirring in her face 
So strangely sweet, I dared not gaze, 
But dropped my glance, as one who fears 
To taste the cup he may not drain. 
Her gentle sympathy with smiles 
And light responses met, she stood 
In silence at my side, her hand 
On Arthur's arm; till, looking up. 
He stilled her fears with sportive words: 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 5 1 

"What says our silent sister Grace 
Of this new Curtius, who would fain 
Fling down his life to close the gulf 
That yawns across the world?" And 

Grace, 
Uplifting eyes wherein there shone 
The light of some fair thought, replied: 
''The knighthood of my early dream 
Still walks the earth; and Galahad 
Perchance has found the Holy Grail, 
And bears it unto dying lips." 
The fresh, glad month of June had fled; 
And after many days of pain, 
I, lifted to a window, sat. 
With dreamy languor looking down 
Upon the moving life below, 
And turning o'er, with lingering touch, 
A book of poems, one that Grace 
Had treasured long, whose pages bore 
The traces of her loving choice. 
When on the margin of a leaf 
I found these verses lightly traced: 



52 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

"O Childhood! thy thought is the breeze 
That sports with the bloom of the earth; 

Thy glance is the glow of the dawn, 

And the gush of the brooklet thy mirth. 

"O Manhood! thy passions are winds 

That sweep that frail bloom from their path; 

Thy glance is the blaze of the noon, 
And lightning that sears is thy wrath. 

"O Age! in thy voice is the moan 

Of surges that die on the shore; 
Thy glance is the light of a star 

That setteth to rise nevermore. 

"O Life! to the infinite waste 

Is lifted thy gaze of despair ; 
Thy voice is the sob of a world 

Grown weary of answerless prayer." 

And while I mused upon the words, 
I heard a light step drawing near; 
And did not close the open book, 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 53 

But held it wide, as, with a smile, 

Grace leaned above me, looking down 

To note the lines that held my thought. 

A sudden flush swept cheek and brow, 

As on the faintly-pencilled words 

Her swift glance fell ; and, starting back, 

She faltered low: "I had forgot; 

Will you forget them too? — and yet," 

With sudden passion in her voice, 

"And yet, perchance, they touch a truth." 

"Turns life to you so sad a face ? 

I would your eyes might feel the smile 

That gleams beneath her solemn gaze." 

" And ha.ve you, then, found life so sweet ?** 

"So passing sweet and wonderful, 

That when the sun, from deeps unknown, 

Uplifts another shining day. 

And lays it down before my feet, 

I bow my heart in reverent joy." 

The trembling barriers of reserve, 
Before strong tides of feeling fell, 



54 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

And with clasped hands, and head thrown 

back, 
She let the pent-up thought of years 
Burst forth, with rush of rapid words : 
"I cannot feel the far-off sun ; 
A chilly shadow folds my heart ; 
And through the music of the world 
I hear a mighty wail of woe 
From trampled souls that bleed and die ; 
Beyond brief life I see a gulf 
Wherein fall joy and pain alike. 
And darkness is the end of all ! 
Some talk of life and hope beyond. 
And smile at death ; but who can sound 
The dark abysses of the grave ? 
We dream of light ; but through our dream 
The mocking voice of doubt sounds on. 
'Deluded souls! 'tis but a dream!' 
We search for God ; but tangled creeds 
Have barred the path ; we lose our way, 
And know not where to seek His throne : 
Life drags, we know not whence nor why. 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 55 

Across the desert sands of fate, 

Its pauseless, hopeless, endless march ; 

And yet, in ringing words of cheer. 

You call it ' Passing sweet ! ' What dream, 

What madness of the brain, is this?" 

A wave of pity swept my thought 

Beyond the narrow bounds of speech. 

Before my feet a quivering soul 

Lay panting in defiant pain ; 

A tender, homeless, wounded soul 

That, fallen on dark ways of doubt. 

Writhed helpless on the jagged rocks ; 

And all my love in holy fire 

Of yearning prayer flamed up to heaven: 

''Lord, though I may not feel her heart 

Against my own, oh let me feel 

That I have laid it at Thy feet ! " 

A strange, deep calm came o'er my soul ; 

The mighty pain of passion, merged 

In love made pure of self, grew sweet ; 

And tenderly, as to a child, 



56 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

I spoke the thought that words could reach : 
"Dear wanderer in a Father's world, 
Within His wide embrace of love 
Doth all life lie ; no cold response 
From distant skies to earth's deep moan 
Of helpless anguish hath God given, 
But, stooping low, hath shared the cup 
So bitter to our shrinking lips : 
Like fleeting clouds in summer skies, 
O'ershone by His incarnate love. 
Your doubts shall melt ; pause not for 

creeds ; 
Draw near and lift your gaze to His." 
*'0 give me proof! for doubt sees naught 
Beyond a shifting throng of doubts ! " 
** Truth, to the soul that seeks but truth 
With single aim, shall prove itself: 
No eye e'er craved a lesser light 
To prove the shining of the sun, 
And God His own best witness is 
Within the soul that seeks His face. 
Fear not ; for through your haunting dream 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 5/ 

Shall break the daylight world of faith." 
A smile within her troubled glance 
Dawned, glimmering like a sudden star 
Through parted clouds; and murmuring 

low — 
*' If doubt be then the dream, and faith 
The daylight world where phantoms fade, 
Oh pray that on my longing eyes 
Its light may break!" she turned away; 
And I, once more alone, sent forth 
In tenderness unspeakable 
My longing heart to wage with hers 
The weary war of struggling faith. 

While day by day life gently poured 
Returning strength along my veins, 
My heart, by slow and sweet release 
From pain's relaxing grasp set free, 
Looked out on life with tranquil gaze, 
That, filled with light of present joy, 
Saw not the deepening shade of pain 
That lay beyond: the morning came 



58 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

And brought, as surely as the light 
That waked the birds, the happier light 
That waked within my soul the joy 
And melody of life; and Night, 
Star holy, pure and calm, her hand 
Upon my throbbing sense laid soft, 
And led me unto shrines of prayer, 
Where I might lay my longings deep 
Within the changeless peace of God. 
Through all those sunny days, my thoughts 
With one dear step kept rhythmic beat — 
A step that over fancy's range 
Of visioned heights, and o'er the green 
And dewy meads of tenderness, 
Moved fleet and noiseless as the light. 
Around the woman-heart of Grace 
An added shyness — from the hour 
When, suddenly set free, her thought 
Had fluttered trembling to my breast — 
Clung like a wreath of mountain mist 
That, parted by a sudden gust. 
Reveals a peak, then folds it close. 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. $9 

Oft, when round Arthur's easel grouped 

We filled the hours with rippling mirth, 

A sudden stillness o'er her face 

Would fall; and in her laughing eyes 

A far, faint glory gleam and fade 

Like sunsets over Alpine snows; 

And, drawing near her unaware. 

My footsteps oft would seem to break 

A strain that held her listening ear. 

As, with a start and fleeting blush, 

Her truant thought she summoned home. 

Each morning, on the little stand 
Where lay my treasured books, I found. 
Placed by her gentle hand, a vase, 
That lifted to the morning light. 
From nest of green, one snow-white flower, 
With spotless gleam of dewy leaves; 
And when I, wondering, lightly asked 
The reason of her constant choice. 
With down-drooped lids she answered low: 
" They are the angels of the flowers. 



60 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

And wear no passion-hues of earth." 
And then I wondered more, and weighed 
With doubtful thought her faltered words, 

A silence, tremulous and stirred 

With quivering movements of two souls, 

That thrilled to feel their garments touch. 

Drew round us as the days went by; 

And, fearful by the lightest breath 

To break its sweet and subtle spell, 

I stilled each throb of beating love 

And held my spirit strangely calm. 

A slow, soft change, like brightening dawn. 

Or deepening green of early leaves. 

Stole o'er her face, and on her brow 

There fell the still, clear light of peace. 

She spoke no word, and yet I knew 

Her weary soul was nestling close 

Within the waiting arms of God. 

And when one day I sat alone, 

She passed me with a timid haste, 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 6l 

And, scarcely pausing, in my hand 
Let gently fall this gift of joy: 



DREAMING AND WAKING. 

Alone, beneath an awful sky, 

A starless, vacant sky, 
In visions of the night I stood: 

A moaning wind swept by, 

And through the dark, a cry — 
The mingled wail of many lips — 

Was borne on high. 

Then through my dream there broke a 
voice 

From realms beyond the night : 
Awake ! awake ! the skies are clear. 

And, on thy sealed sight 

Fall floods of golden light 
From radiant springs beyond the sweep 

Of azure height. 



62 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

The dream hath fled ; the joyous heaven 

Smiles o'er mine unsealed eyes : 
Beyond the far horizon verge 

The dim night vanquished flies ; 

The green earth peaceful lies, 
With fresh bloom glad, and songs of bird? 

That wing the skies. 

By love's resistless tide o'erswept, 
I bent, and touched the written words 
With trembling lips ; while in my heart 
Rose longings, helpless, passionate, 
To fling their hopeless agony 
Against the stony front of fate. 

Some moments are there in our lives 
When, stripped of all disguise, and strong, 
The crouching passions of the soul, 
That slumbered till we deemed them dead, 
Leap suddenly to giant life, 
And close around the wavering will 
That trembles in their mighty grasp; 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 63 

And in that awful solitude 
Behind the bounds of flesh, there meet 
The powers whose soundless warfare fills 
The world, and shapes the fates of men. 
Such moments knew I, lying prone. 
Her message crushed within my grasp ; 
The outer world, and time and sense, 
I knew not, while the spirit strove 
And grappled with its viewless foes. 
Youth, bearing in its eager pulse 
A wordless prophecy of joy — 
A subtle kinship in its veins 
With all the gladness of the earth 
And sky, and every living thing, 
Treads regally, with lifted brows 
That claim their crown of coming bliss; 
And when life fronts it suddenly 
With circlet sharp of thorns, it shrinks, 
And stands at bay in wild revolt ; 
The spirit of my youth, grown fierce 
With long denial, thus at bay. 
Writhed madly in the grasp of pain. 



64 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

And vainly flung its fettered hands 

To clutch a joy beyond its reach. 

For let not those who walk the earth 

In calm accord with lines of grace 

And symmetries of form, forget 

That we on whom no human eye 

E'er rests with joy, have hearts that leap 

As swift and sudden at a glance, 

A voice, a touch, as hearts that beat 

In forms of faultless mould; we too 

Can love ; and, though we may not hope, 

May yet despair ! Aye, woe to us 

When, through the dimness where we sit 

Apart from men, the torturer steals 

To lay us on the rack of love ! 

On those dark hours no eye may look 

Save only His, who, while we pant 

In mortal anguish, lays His hand 

Upon our brows, and whispers low : 

''There is a joy that none may share 

Save they whose wills have found repose 

Within the perfect will of God ; 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 65 

The meek inheritors of earth 

Who, empty-handed though they stand, 

Are yet partakers by a reach 

Of larger love, a grasp divine, 

In all the good of all the world." 

So spake His voice within my soul, 

Above its tumult rising clear ; 

And as I listened, o'er my will 

There fell a deep and mighty peace ; 

And like to one who slowly wakes 

Sore wounded on a battle-field, 

And in the hush of early dawn, 

While stars melt softly overhead, 

Is 'ware of victory after strife, 

I lay, not painless, yet at rest, 

And felt a stirring as of wings 

That hovered o'er my weary heart. 

An hour had passed, one little hour, 
And all the current of my life 
Was changed. While, in the pause of will 
That follows triumph dearly won, 

5 



(i6 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

I took no thought of days to come, 
There flashed before me, like a face 
Seen long before in happier years, 
The memory of a letter, read 
And flung aside while yet I trod 
The blooming haunts of silent love. 
And recked not where they led my feet: 
A letter from an artist friend. 
Who in the elder world had found 
The royal feast the kings of art 
Bequeathed us when they left the earth ; 
And now, to make his bliss complete. 
Would have me share it at his side. 
Then sharply, suddenly, I felt 
The snapping of the slender tie 
Between my life and all that made 
It fair, and knew that I must go ; 
I could not lie in beggar's guise 
Beside the door of one most rich 
In all the precious gifts of God, 
Most pitiful of others' lack, 
To crave with silent plea a boon 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 6/ 

She might not give, and wring her heart 
With unavailing pain, a blot, 
A shadow on her sunny way: 
And as one fallen from a height 
Whereon midst bloom and light he walked 
Serene, looks up with failing gaze 
And sees the leaves that lightly sway 
Against the blue far overhead, 
I looked upon the life I loved, 
Then turned to face a life that seemed 
As bleak and grey as twilight skies 
When sunset's heart of fire has ceased 
To beat, and all the air is pale. 

With firm intent to bar the gates 
Of strong resolve against surprise 
Of traitorous will, I rose and wrote : 
"My friend, I grasp across the sea 
Your proffered hand, and come to sup 
Beside you at the feast of art." 
The letter in my hand, I sought 
The two I loved, resolved to seal 



68 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

My purpose with a swift farewell. 

By Arthur's easel, where the brush, 

Just laid aside to wait his hand, 

Lay idle, Grace I found alone ; 

A stillness pure and deeply sweet 

As silences of morning air 

Before the day has found a voice 

Was in the face she slowly raised 

To meet my gaze ; and flinging back 

The hungry pain that clutched my heart, 

I caught her joy and held it warm 

Against my breast, and with a smile 

That met her wordless greeting, said : 

**In vain we seek to reach with words 

The joys whose flow, unfathomed, sweeps 

From soul to soul : I can but say — 

Behold, your joy supreme is mine ! 

As in your lifted eyes I read 

The open secret of a heart 

At rest upon the heart of God. 

Dear friend, that God has made you fair, 

Has clothed with robing of pure grace 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 69 

A soul as stainless, clear and glad 
As sunlit spray on breaking waves ; 
As swift and eager in its sweep 
Toward heavenly heights as mounting 

flame, 
I thank Him, thank Him more, that I, 
Unworthy save by humble right 
Of utmost reverence, yet have stood 
Within the radiance of your life, 
And filled my spirit with a light 
That even through the outer dark 
So soon to fold me round, will shine 
Across my dim and lonely way. 
Dear friend, the bitter word I came 
To speak is even this : ' Farewell ! ' 
I fain would find another, fit 
And sweeter, but it may not be — 
And so, 'Farewell.' I take my life 
Across the sea to seek a path 
Which, though it leads away from joy, 
May reach at last the heights of peace." 



70 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

With drooping face and tender smile, 

That trembled like a changeful gleam 

Of summer sun through tossing leaves, 

She listened till that word, "Farewell," 

Smote with a sudden blow her heart. 

And then I saw her shrink; the lips 

That would have quivered, closed ; a wave 

Of deepening crimson rose and fell. 

And left her pale ; and when I ceased 

She looked upon me with a look 

That all the years have never dimmed ; 

It was as if her spirit stood 

Beyond a darkly yawning gulf 

That none might leap, and beckoned me ; 

And passion, yet uncrushed, arose 

And bade me of her pity make 

A link to join our severed lives. 

A moment stood I motionless. 

Through all my being 'ware of naught 

But that appealing gaze; and then. 

Like one who frees his captive limbs 

With sudden wrench from tightening bonds, 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 7 1 

I broke the silence, breathing low — 
"God keep you, and farewell!" then turned, 
Not waiting for a word or sign, 
And left her standing mute and pale. 



72 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 



PART IV. 

Like painful, half-forgotten dreams, 

I feel again the sailing on 

'Twixt boundless wastes of sea and sky, 

That seemed to ache with loneliness; 

The landing on an alien shore 

Ungladdened by a friendly eye; 

The weary shifting of the scenes 

Whose strangeness was a constant grief; 

And then the meeting with a mind 

That overbrimmed with sparkling life, 

And swept me in its eager rush 

Beyond the dead, unchanging calm 

Of stagnant hope. One purpose strong 

And strengthening with the strength of soul 

Inwrought by fires of pain, upheld 

And led me through the days, while still 

My heart was bleeding out of sight: 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 73 

The purpose, if I might, to wed 

The art I loved to holiest truth, 

And send it forth to war with sense. 

They told me at the school of art. 

Where with my friend I joined the ranks 

Of combatants for high success. 

That hues and forms were in my power 

To wield at will; and all the wise — 

Those magnates of a narrow world 

Who see the universe revolve 

Around a square of canvas — spoke. 

And bade me most of all beware 

Of flimsy dreams, and make my hand 

The slavish pupil of the eye, 

Recording only what appears; 

Their realism, held on high 

As creed, meant simply working close 

To nature while she moulds the clay 

Around a soul, and heeding not 

The spark divine that glimmers through; 

And I, who nursed no hope of fame, 

Nor cared to cheat the multitude 



74 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

With soulless reflex of a world 
Made vital with the breath of God, 
Went on my way, and strove to work 
Within the sphere of art, as God 
In nature, bodying viewless truth 
In gracious forms to haunt the soul, 
And hush the clamorous cries of sense 
With breathings of a strain divine. 

The years brought healing as they came, 
And strength, and peace; and life to me 
Was holy, calm, and gravely sweet, 
Without a sting, and full of hope: 
A hope that reached beyond the bound 
Where joy and pain are blending waves 
That never rest. Across the sea 
My earliest friend still kept a thought 
That turned to me, and letters came 
That told me of the life he led, 
The love that crowned him with a crown 
Above all price — Ah, she was fair. 
His peerless one! I could not know 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 75 

How fair! For all his pictures, drawn 
With pen of flame, were colorless 
Beside the truth; and then a name 
That, moon-like, hid the lesser light 
Of common words, would seem to shine 
Alone, and I would read of Grace, 
Who grew, he wrote half playfully, 
A sweet and pensive nun, whose life 
Moved outward through the lives she 

served. 
Who gathered children at her knee, 
And taught them tenderly, and soothed 
The friendless in their dying hours. 
And ministered to all whose needs 
Reached out to touch her loving heart. 
"You would not know our sportive Grace," 
He said, ''so calm and grave she grows, 
So quietly she moves, and sings 
Her songs no more about the house, 
Save softly, as one might to lull 
A restless child : she speaks of you — 
Not often, nor with many words — 



7^ THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

For speech with her as one divines 

Is not the measure of the heart ; 

Yet speaks she with a touch of pride, 

And tenderly, and well I know 

She bears you in her steadfast thought. 

Each day a flower is on your stand ; — 

'He may come back!' she says, and smiles. 

So reading, through my pulses ran 

A yearning thrill of memory, 

And like a tyrant fain to prove 

His questioned power, the past arose 

And shook my being with a touch. 

One day — that seemed like other days, 

Yet cloaked a shadow with its sun — 

A letter, hailed with gladness, came 

To mock the healing of the years, 

And quicken to intenser life 

A slumbering pain: — a letter, brief, 

But throbbing as alive with beats 

Of dread that strove to still themselves 

As fearful of a fear betrayed. 

Grace, coming from the bed of one 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 7/ 

Who died of fever, drooped, yet scorned 
To yield, until the fever sprang 
And wrapped her in its fiery coils ; 
And now through day and night she lay, 
A ghostly shadow of herself, 
That slowly wasted, hour by hour. 

So wrote he ; and a horror strange 
And cold crept through me as I read ; 
While thought and will and reason paused, 
And nothing in me lived but pain. 
There is a yearning on whose swell. 
Resistless as the mighty heave 
Of ocean's breast, the soul is borne 
Far out beyond the calmer mood 
Wherein it moved in still resolve ; 
And such a yearning, solemn, strong, 
And almost holy in its depth 
Of passionless, despairing calm. 
Uplifted me above all doubts, 
And bore me on to seek the face 
That, through my every mood of mind, 



78 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Had shone with pure and constant light, 
As shines the wide and steadfast heaven 
Through every wandering wind that blows. 
One hope, one only hope, I held 
And would not look beyond ; the hope 
To stand beside the one I loved, 
When love of mine, no more a snare 
To lure her life from happier love, 
Should lie among the things of earth 
Behind her, with no power to bind 
In any wise the passing soul. 
For strangely did I seem aware 
. That death had claimed her, and no doubt 
Disturbed me saying, "Should she live, 
Then love revealed were still a chain 
Around her heart"; and so I went. 

Once more I felt the boundless waste 
Of sea and sky — an azure pause 
Between the voices of the worlds — 
And then the days of blank suspense 
Were ended, and I knew she lived ; 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 79 

And, journeying, stood without the door 

Where oft of old my eager heart 

Had waited for a coming foot ; 

There Arthur met me, sad and worn, 

And saying only, 'Death is near. 

For I have seen his shadow fall ; 

Yet tarries, while we fear to feel 

The moments passing"; clasped my hand 

And led me in ; the silent house. 

So eloquent of buried joys, 

Was like an added wound to one 

Already dead ; a numb suspense 

Of feeling held me as I stood 

And mutely waited for the word 

That bade me seek that chamber dim 

Wherein the radiance of my youth 

Was fading slowly from the earth. 

A darkness with a central heart 

Of throbbing light, the chamber seemed. 

As entering in, I only saw 

Her eyes that turned to mine, her smile 



8o THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

That lightened strangely through the 

gloom ; 
And from the darkness came her voice, — 
The same, yet sweeter, with a thrill 
Of mystic sweetness caught from heaven ; 
I heard it softly breathe my name : 
Then, after silence, while our souls 
Reached forth and touched through meet- 
ing eyes, — 
From out that twilight border-land 
'Twixt earth and heaven, where passion 

dies, 
And love is pure — she spoke again: 
'"Twas so I saw it, yet the years 
Have touched it with an added light : 
The eyes are steadfast as of old. 
But tenderer, and the mouth — ah, there! 
'Twas sorrow graved that deeper line, — 
I know her hand ; and now come near, 
That I may feel your touch once more. 
Your living touch, and know you live, 
Though I must die." Then at that word 



THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 8 1 

The veil of silence round my heart 

Was rent away, and love leaped forth 

In agony, to cope with death. 

"O Love! O Love! you may not die 

And leave me on the empty earth, 

Whose very air will dumbly wait 

The voice it stills itself to hear ! 

O love, live on ! and let me feel 

Through all the world your beating heart!'' 

So spake I wildly, bending low 

My head upon the hand I clasped. 

" And you have loved me ! " — with a thrill 

Of trembling joy her answer fell. 

"My saint, whose aureole of flame 

Has led me on o'er rugged ways 

And up the steeps of high resolve. 

My love, whose lightest smile could make 

A silent gladness in my heart 

Too sweet for words, — ah, had I known ! 

Dear love, you lightly weighed my heart 

To deem it might not leap the bars 

Of outward form to clasp a soul 



82 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

That stood so near to God a light 
Was on it from His face ; and now 
'Tis death that clasps our parted hands, 
And draws us heart to heart at last, 
With touch of pity, ere we part : 
And yet, we part not ; love to love 
Can reach, across the silent void 
Between the worlds, and we shall know 
We live and love forevermore. 
Ah, we have felt the weary ache 
Of longing, while the heavy days. 
Slow moving, bore us on apart ; 
But now the throbbing pain is still ; 
Beloved, lay upon my brow 
The seal of love, that death may see, 
And, smiling, touch me tenderly." 
With reverent lips, as one might touch 
An angel's wing, I kissed her brow. 
And far uplifted o'er the heights 
Of joy and pain our spirits met 
Within the silent infinite 
Of Heaven's untroubled, changeless love. 



THE STORY OF A HUNCH HACK. 83 

The moments passing touched us not, 
Nor knew we fear, till suddenly 
The hovering wings of death swept close ; 
His breath was on her cheek ; her eyes, 
That ever dwelt on mine, grew dim ; 
And then I knew the soul within 
Had soared to light, while like a cloud 
The earth around me darkly drew. 
Down slowly shortening aisles of time 
That widen out to larger light — 
Companioned by a shape serene 
Undimmed by earthly years — I move 
Beside the paths of other men : 
A spring of peace, that ever wells 
From deeps beneath the fickle flow 
Of earthly joy, o'erfloods my heart. 
The flower toward which with quickening 

life 
Our nature yearns — the flower of love — 
Has bloomed in mine, and, fading not, 
Has felt the touch of God and grown 
Immortal : oft through veils of sense 



84 THE STORY OF A HUNCHBACK. 

Uplifted suddenly, I catch 

A brightening gleam from far within, 

And o'er the voices of the world 

I hear a music beating clear 

From spirits tuned to perfect rest : 

Beneath the agonies of men 

I feel — the Cross — the deep response 

Of God to pain; beneath their sin, 

The Cross — the sign and pledge of love 

That all the ages shall not waste. 

Nor change, nor ever swerve aside 

From any soul of man that lives. 







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